


Can't Watch (Not This Time)

by CreateImagineWrite



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Misunderstandings, Reincarnation, Running Away, brief mentions of rape and suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-31 03:17:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3962392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreateImagineWrite/pseuds/CreateImagineWrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reincarnation!AU, based off a prompt from alkeon17 on Merlin Writers. After Arthur marries someone else four lifetimes in a row, Merlin decides he can't watch there be a fifth. One-Shot. Merthur.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't Watch (Not This Time)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alkeon17](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=alkeon17).



**Can’t Watch**

_By CreateImagineWrite_

The first time Arthur says “I do” with his focus purely on his bride and not on Merlin, Merlin doesn’t know what to think. It’s been dozens of reincarnations since their first, and while Arthur has married other women, it has always been as a response to social pressure, to Uther’s pressure. Arthur’s marriages only went as deep as the surface, a façade of normalcy that the former Prince of Camelot had no trouble pushing aside to take Merlin into his bed.

But this time is different. This time Arthur isn’t looking at his best man, his eyes are on Mithian, full of love and devotion and it’s more painful than anything Merlin could imagine. 

Merlin spends that life a bachelor, watches Arthur and Mithian bring tiny little children into the world, and tries to pretend that it doesn’t kill him inside. He tells himself that it’s a onetime thing, the next reincarnation will be better, that he’ll see Arthur’s love directed at himself the next time.

But then it doesn’t happen. A second lifetime goes by where Arthur marries Mithian. A third where he marries Gwen. But the fourth is worst. It’s a lifetime where, for the first time, men can be together almost openly without being killed. It’s not openly accepted, but it is ignored. Merlin spends his lifetime with Gwaine, and while it is acceptable, it does little to dull the pain of seeing Arthur say “I do” with his eyes firmly fixed upon Elena, stunningly resplendent in white.

And Merlin, dying of cancer in the 1980s, with Gwaine middle-aged and steadfast and wonderful beside him, tells himself that he is done with Arthur Pendragon.

It takes him a while to remember his past lifetimes the next time round. He’s in his mid-twenties when he wakes up with his head full of the past, everything from Camelot to the World Wars. He’s an orphan this time, has an economics degree and a junior management position in an interior design company. He’s got Gwaine, and an off-again, on-again relationship with the man, but no one else from Camelot is in his circle. It’s a rare occurrence. While no one else remembers, Merlin has a theory that their souls recognize each other. Once they meet, they don’t generally break apart.

But when he runs into Arthur, golden and beautiful as he ever is, and Arthur, oblivious, asks, “Do I know you? You look… familiar,” Merlin remembers four lifetimes of pain and rejection and answers, for the first time, “Sorry mate, I’ve never seen you before in my life,” and moves on.

He doesn’t see Arthur for another eight months, and it’s only because Gwaine has met Percy and given up his playboy ways. The two throw a flatwarming party when they first move in together, and it turns out that Arthur is a friend of Percy’s. 

“This is A’thur,” Gwaine slurs, sloshed from excessive booze and clinging to Percy like a limpet. He always did get affectionate when he was drunk. 

“Merlin,” he introduces himself, shaking the blond’s hand. 

“I ran into you in a coffee shop once, didn’t I?” Arthur asks, grinning. “I’m sure I remembered you from somewhere.”

“Sounds vaguely familiar,” Merlin answers casually, as if he hasn’t thought about that moment obsessively in the months since it happened. 

“Nice to meet you properly then.” He grins, and he’s beautiful and confident and everything Merlin’s ever wanted, but in the next moment he catches sight of Mithian over Merlin’s shoulder.

“Christ, introduce me to that one, Gwaine!”

And Merlin watches him saunter up to the gorgeous woman and in that moment, he hates Arthur Pendragon.

In the months that follow, Arthur flirts and dates and shags his way through Gwaine and Percy’s collective group of friends, indiscriminate about whether they’re guys or girls, but stays away from Merlin. And it’s fine with Merlin, it really is. Or so he tells himself.

He’s planning an extravagant party to celebrate his promotion to senior manager at work with Gwen when she brings it up.

“I know you don’t like him, Merlin, but it seems a bit unfair to invite everyone and not Arthur.”

“I don’t not like him,” Merlin frowns, looking at her.

Gwen just raises an eyebrow and points at the guest list. “Then why isn’t he on here?”

Gritting his teeth, Merlin adds another name, and says, “Happy now?”

She smiles at him fondly. “I suppose.”

Arthur doesn’t come to every social event in their collective friends group, but he’s at enough of them that Merlin sees him on a monthly, if not weekly, basis. In this lifetime, he doesn’t seem keen on settling down with anyone, more set on having flings with every breathing, vaguely attractive person he can hook his charm into. None of them are Merlin, and he pretends that doesn’t break him a little every time Arthur boasts of a new conquest. 

He wouldn’t want to be a conquest anyway.

Then his twenty-eighth birthday happens, and Arthur’s there again, inescapable. Merlin retreats to the balcony, begging off for the chance at a cigarette.

The sliding door opens. “Mind if I join you?” says a voice, hesitantly.

It’s Arthur, and, unable to think of a polite way to tell him to _go away_ , Merlin just says, “Sure.”

The blond lights a cigarette, takes his first draw, and puffs it out, white in the cold air. There are a few minutes of tense silence, and then Arthur breaks it, without preamble: “Why do you hate me so much?”

Merlin chokes on his cigarette smoke like a beginner and stares at him. “I don’t hate you.”

Arthur gives him a wry smile that doesn’t go anywhere near his eyes. “There’s a lie if I ever heard one.”

And Merlin doesn’t know how to say _actually, I’ve loved you since over a thousand years ago when you were a King of a now-mythical land but I can’t let you break my heart again_ , so he just says, with a bit more conviction: “I don’t hate you.”

Arthur just looks at him, puffing out another breath of smoke. “You certainly act like it. I don’t think I’ve met anyone I charm as little as you.”

Merlin snorts, heart aching in his chest. “Well, you’re not all that charming.” And then he stubs out his cigarette and heads back in to join the party.

They have more interactions like that, not exactly friendly, but not really strangers, and each one makes Merlin a little more lonely. He has people in this life. Mordred’s always good for a night of fun. Will’s around for a run through the pubs. But Arthur isn’t settling, and Merlin isn’t settling, but Arthur never directs his flirtation at Merlin, their conversations always cautious and stumbling, like Merlin is a puzzle he can’t quite figure out. 

Their friends have started pairing off, marrying, having kids, and Merlin’s twenty-ninth birthday creeps closer. He’s beginning to regret his decision to cut Arthur out. He sees the blond sometimes, looking at him, and Gwen has started to hint that the two of them should pair off like the rest, ever the matchmaker. But he remembers four lives, four lives of pain, one which he cut off by his own hand, and he can’t bring himself to take the steps to change it. 

And then Sophia joins their group, gorgeous as she always is, and Arthur’s attentions turn into something more than his usual flirtation and one night stand. And when he gets out a ring and proposes, six months in, Merlin looks at all of their friends congratulating them, looks at Arthur, smiling and laughing, and he can’t do it. He turns around, and walks out.

He’s halfway down the sidewalk to the road, holding back tears, when a shout stops him.

“Merlin!” There is the sound of jogging footsteps, and then a hand on his shoulder. And it’s Arthur, and he’s gorgeous and Merlin’s heart can’t take it. 

He punches him in the face.

Arthur goes down swearing, hand covering his jaw, and Merlin stands there, feeling like his blood has been replaced with regret, tears prickling at the corner of his eyes.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Arthur picks himself up, thumbing his split lip. 

“I can’t do it this time,” Merlin chokes, past the point of caring. “I can’t watch. Just… just leave me alone.”

“What do you mean?” Arthur stares at him, confused and bleeding and still the most beautiful thing Merlin has ever seen.

He turns and walks away, gets into his car.

“Wait a second!” Arthur shouts at him. “What do you mean?!”

But he drives away. 

His flat is lonely and quiet and he shuts his phone off after the tenth time it rings. He thinks of their first life, where they hadn’t been lovers. Arthur had died too soon. Their kinship would have flowered to something more, if it had been given a chance. He thinks of rockslides and poison and Arthur saving him and him saving Arthur, and it does nothing to soothe the ache inside his chest. 

He thinks of the lifetime where he’d watched Arthur marry Mithian for the second time, thinks about steel against his wrists and how much he had regretted it, as his lifeblood drained away. He can’t watch, not this time. Can’t see Arthur marry another for the fifth time, when it could be him. The laws allow it now. They could be married. But Arthur doesn’t love him, Arthur hasn’t loved him for a long time. And he can’t end it, can’t do it, remembers how it felt and how much he’d hated the pain he put his friends and family through. 

Arthur doesn’t love him. Arthur is marrying someone else. Again. 

And Merlin can’t watch. He looks at his phone, dead and silent across the room. He thinks of his job, his projects, his friends. Thinks of everything.

He can’t watch. Not again.

He drags his little-used suitcase out from underneath the bed, buys a one-way flight on his laptop, takes only what he can’t afford to lose. The phone stays where it is. He leaves a piece of paper on the table with only two words on it: “I’m sorry.” 

Getting on the plane to Canada feels like freedom. 

It’s not easy, but it’s not hard either. He starts taking classes because it’s much easier to get a work visa as a student, and a year goes by before he notices. He’s not even that lonely, he has new friends, on-again off-again boyfriends, even. He doesn’t have contact with any of his old friends, never hears a word from London. How would he, when they don’t even know where he is? 

It isn’t perfect, he still thinks about Arthur, wonders if the wedding has happened, feels the ache fill his chest. But he didn’t have to watch, and it’s enough. The pain is dulled, and he tries not to think about if it’s always going to be like this, now, if Arthur will never love him again. 

He feels the loss a bit more keenly on the day of his 30th birthday, missing the dozens of texts he used to get, missing Gwaine, Gwen, Lance, the lot of them. He goes out with his Canadian friends, gets drunk enough that their faces don’t shine so sharply in his memory. When the cab drops him at home, he’s more than a bit sloshed and it takes him four tries to get the key into the front door of his apartment building. He’s giggling at nothing in particular, and the stairs are a bit daunting, but he makes it to his floor. 

What he doesn’t expect is the blond-haired figure slumped against his door, half-asleep and waiting.

“Oi,” Merlin says, “That’s my flat! Shove off.”

The figure snaps upright, blurry in the brunet’s alcohol hazed vision. ‘Merlin?” Their tone is tinged with disbelief, and something that sounds like relief.

“Shoo,” Merlin tells them, leaning against the wall for support and trying to find the right key.

“Merlin, it’s me!” 

Hands grab his face, thumbs against his cheekbones. Bright blue eyes fill his vision, but all Merlin wants right now is his bed and possibly some chocolate. He could definitely go for chocolate right now. He bats at the hands. 

“It’s me. Arthur!” The voice says. “Christ, how much did you drink?”

“Was cel’bratin,” Merlin mutters, finding the key. “It’s m’birthday.”

“Let’s get you in bed.”

“Sure,” he slurs, giving up on getting the key in the bolt and handing the lot to the figure, trusting without even realizing it. 

The figure is nice, puts him in bed, puts a bottle of pain medication and a glass of water on the bedside table and leaves him with a murmured goodnight. He doesn’t get chocolate, but he’s too sleepy to care. 

The morning after is hell. His head pounds like it’s been used by an overzealous drummer. It’s worse when he walks into the kitchen and finds the very man he never wanted to see again standing by the coffee machine. 

“Morning,” says Arthur.

“What the hell are you doing here?!” 

The blond looks at him, and then says, quietly, “I could ask you the same thing.”

They stare at each other, and Merlin can’t help himself, his gaze falls to the man’s left hand. It’s bare.

“I didn’t marry her.”

Merlin looks at him, headache pounding in his temples, and his heart aches worse. “You did the last four times.”

Arthur takes a step forward, eyes unfathomable. “I know.”

Merlin blinks. “What?”

“Merlin,” the blond’s mouth twists. “I remember. I remember all of it.”

“What?” the brunet stares at him, unable to comprehend.

“All of it. Camelot. Everything, every life.” He takes another cautious step forward, then another, comes close enough that his breath brushes against Merlin’s skin.

“What are you saying?” Merlin asks, heart pounding.

“I remember you,” Arthur says, hands reaching out, thumbs against his cheekbones, and it’s familiar and yet strange. “I remember every version of you, every last one since the first.”

Merlin pulls away. “No.”

The blond’s brow furrows. “Wha –”

“No, you can’t.” Merlin stares at him. “You never have, you, you _can’t_.”

“I do.” He reaches out again, but the brunet steps back.

“No,” he whispers, pale, shaking. 

“Merlin…” Arthur’s face is confused. “Please, I’m trying to –”

“No,” Merlin says, and runs. 

His hungover self is no match for Arthur, football player and daily jogger, and the blond catches him before he even leaves the kitchen, fingers firm around Merlin’s wrist. 

“Let me go!” Merlin shouts at him, struggling, fighting back tears.

“No, please, Merlin, just let me –”

“No!” And his voice is closer to the voice that he had as a Dragonlord than it’s ever been. “No, Arthur, even if you remember…” His throat seems to close up. “Even if you remember, you don’t… you don’t love me in this life. And I can’t –” He pulls against Arthur’s hold on his wrist. “I can’t let this happen again, I can’t take it. _Please_. Let me go!”

Arthur’s expression is agony. “I’m so sorry, Merlin.”

“Please,” he begs, tears finally escaping. “I can’t watch. I can’t watch it. Not… not again.”

“Look at me,” Arthur says, and Merlin does. “You won’t have to, not this time.”

The sound Merlin makes is half sob, half laugh. “After four lifetimes without –” His voice chokes off. 

“I’m sorry,” the blond’s voice sounds nearly as choked. 

“If you remember… if you remember, you know what I did the second time. You know that I –”

“I wish I had remembered in that life, Merlin. I would’ve… I would’ve done anything to stop that. To find you… like that…” The hand that’s not still closed tightly around Merlin’s wrist reaches up to touch his cheek, and Merlin leans into it subconsciously, unable to resist, before pulling away.

“Please let me go,” he whispers. 

“At least let me explain why it happened the first –”

Merlin laughs, the sounds wretched and mirthless. “Do you think I want to hear why I wasn’t good enough for you, Arthur Pendragon?”

“No!” Arthur’s eyes are pleading. “I – I know it was inexcusable, but that was never the reason. _Please_ , Merlin, don’t believe that.”

“You left me _alone_ , Arthur.” The pain is dissolving into anger now. “A lifetime of loneliness and having to watch you live your life from a distance. Of course that’s what I believe. It was naïve of me to think that after a thousand years of lifetimes that you’d always want me. It was –”

“Stop,” Arthur’s voice is agonized, and it’s enough for Merlin to look at him, really look. “I have _never_ not wanted you. Not in a single lifetime. I have wanted you in every single lifetime since our first.”

There is enough truth in those blue eyes that Merlin can almost believe him. “Then _why_ , Arthur? Just… _Why_?!”

Arthur just looks at him, expression pained. “That was the lifetime you were raped.” And his eyes are pleading for understanding.

And Merlin remembers, God, he remembers, the pain of it, the humiliation, the sadistic laughter and blood and the tears. He flinches back. His voice is hoarse when he answers. “And what, you didn’t want sullied goods, is that it?”

“No!” Arthur’s voice is a near-shout. “Not that. I have _always_ wanted you, Merlin. But that lifetime… I didn’t think _you_ wanted me.”

Merlin closes his eyes, lips twisting. “You’re the other half of me, Arthur. I could never _not_ want you.”

Arthur makes a frustrated noise, hissed through his teeth. “But I didn’t have these memories, Merlin, not like now. I didn’t know that. All I saw was that you were hurt, badly. And you… you flinched from every man’s touch, even mine. I couldn’t…”

And Merlin remembers that too, remembers he hated shaking men’s hands, remembers having copious amounts of female friends, remembers avoiding touching anyone. 

“I know it’s no excuse,” Arthur tells him, fingers less of a manacle around his wrist and more of a caress. “I was a coward. It was easier to just give in to my father’s demands and marry Mithian, to believe that you would never want anything with me, easier to let myself love her and believe that you could never love me back.”

Merlin closes his eyes, feels a tear slip down his cheekbone. “And the lives after that?” 

“A continuation of the first,” Arthur sighs. “You were afraid of it happening again, and you built a wall around yourself. I was too much of a coward to break through it.”

“So you’re saying it’s my fault? All of this?”

“No!” Arthur’s voice is sharp. “You had your memories, and the first life, with Mithian, that was entirely my fault. And I was a coward. I wanted you, I always wanted you, but I was afraid. And when you… when you ended it, the second time…”

Merlin remembers it, the snick of metal against skin, and crimson blood, too much of it, everywhere, the iron scent of it heavy upon his tongue. 

“I didn’t last a week, Merlin. It was so easy. Got into a bar fight, let the other man get the upper hand. I couldn’t live a life without you in it. I still can’t live a life without you in it.”

“You seemed to be doing fine before I left,” Merlin choked out.

“Sophia was nothing compared to you,” Arthur insisted, reaching up to cradle his face, eyes searching. “But I couldn’t have you. You… you hated me, or so I thought… until the engagement.”

“Four lives, Arthur,” Merlin whispered. “I couldn’t stand there and watch there be a fifth.”

“There won’t be.”

“How can you promise that?”

“I don’t know why I’ve remembered this time, but I will always want you, Merlin. Make me remember. I will spend a thousand lifetimes making it up to you. Just let me have this first one.”

And Merlin can’t resist him, even with his heart bleeding and ragged in his chest. He lets out a sound that is still more sob than laugh, and then drags the former Prince closer. “And I’ll always want you, no matter how much it hurts.”

Arthur kisses him. Kisses him like a drowning man finally finding air. Kisses him like they don’t have a thousand reincarnations. Kisses him like he’s the only thing that keeps his heart beating. Kisses him until Merlin is pressed against the countertop and their breathing is more like panting.

“Marry me,” Arthur gasps out.

“What?”

“We can, this time. No fake wives or families to hide suspicion. I can marry you.” He breathes it into the space between Merlin’s lips, foreheads pressed so tightly together that their eyelashes brush.

“I – I…”

“Marry me, Merlin Emrys.”

“I…oh God… yes, just, yes.”

And Arthur kisses him fiercely enough that Merlin loses his breath, forgets the purpose of his lungs. And it’s not enough to eradicate four lifetimes of agony, but it is enough to pick up one tiny piece of his shattered heart and fit it back into place.

That one lifetime isn’t enough, even with their wedding, months later, in London. Even with 50 years together and adopted children. But Arthur keeps his word, and his memories, for the next thousand, until two souls, once the brightest in the entire universe, fade, together, into the golden place where all souls must go – Avalon.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The characters belong to BBC. The basic idea belongs to alkon17 on the Merlin_Writers journal. I think they intended a bit more sass from Merlin, but my muse wanted angst, so angst it got. I hope you enjoyed!


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